faces of the occupants of the kitchen. To
this apartment Ruby ascended without anyone hearing him approach, for
one of the windows was open, and the roar of the storm effectually
drowned his light footfall. On reaching the floor immediately below the
kitchen he heard the tones of a violin, and when his head emerged
through the manhole of the kitchen floor, he paused and listened with
deep interest, for the air was familiar.

Peeping round the corner of the oaken partition that separated the
manhole from the apartment, he beheld a sight which filled his heart
with gladness, for there, seated on a camp-stool, with his back leaning
against the dresser, his face lighted up by the blaze of a splendid
fire, which burned in a most comfortable-looking kitchen range, and his
hands drawing forth most pathetic music from a violin, sat his old
friend Joe Dumsby, while opposite to him on a similar camp-stool, with
his arm resting on a small table, and a familiar black pipe in his
mouth, sat that worthy son of Vulcan, Jamie Dove.

The little apartment glowed with ruddy light, and to Ruby, who had just
escaped from a scene of such drear and dismal aspect, it appeared, what
it really was, a place of the most luxurious comfort.

Dove was keeping time to the music with little puffs of smoke, and Joe
was in the middle of a prolonged shake, when Ruby passed through the
doorway and stood before them.

Dove's eyes opened to their widest, and his jaw dropt, so did his pipe,
and the music ceased abruptly, while the face of both men grew pale.

"I'm not a ghost, boys," said Ruby, with a laugh, which afforded immense
relief to his old comrades. "Come, have ye not a welcome for an old
messmate who swims off to visit you on such a night as this?"

Dove was the first to recover. He gasped, and, holding out both arms,
exclaimed, "Ruby Brand!"

"And no mistake!" cried Ruby, advancing and grasping his friend warmly
by the hands.

For at least half a minute the two men shook each other's hands lustily
and in silence. Then they burst into a loud laugh, while Joe, suddenly
recovering, went crashing into a Scotch reel with energy so great that
time and tune were both sacrificed. As if by mutual impulse, Ruby and
Dove began to dance! But this was merely a spurt of feeling, more than
half-involuntary. In the middle of a bar Joe flung down the fiddle,
and, springing up, seized Ruby round the neck and hugged him, an act
which made him aware